


Street of Steel

by StarsAreMassive



Series: Ned Lives [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, Gen, Ned lives, Starks in King's Landing, arry the orphan boy, blacksmith gendry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-08 05:30:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17975336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarsAreMassive/pseuds/StarsAreMassive
Summary: Ned Lives AU. Whilst things are coming to a head in King's Landing, an errant little wolf is on an adventure...





	Street of Steel

_Quiet as a shadow._

She'd gotten close enough that she could see a fluttering heartbeat beneath its plump little breast. A breeze breathed by and ruffled the slate grey feathers. Its head was twisting and turning like it knew she was there – it just couldn't see her.

_Quick like a snake._

She was poised, stick in hand, to dart forward and slay her enemy. Just one step further. One tiny, little step more.

One step too far.

That feathery head twisted round impossibly far and two googly eyes met hers. She leapt forward with a great cry, as far as her small limbs would take her, but her foe was quicker and was in the air before she had landed on the ground with a heavy thump.

'Stupid pigeon,' she muttered into the dirt.

She pushed herself up with her hands and sat where she had landed. At home, there would already have been half a dozen hands scrambling for her and brushing the snow from her clothes before turning her in to the Septa. But here, no one spared a second look at a skinny child sitting with their backside in the dirt.

Although she wasn't entirely sure where  _here_  even was.

She'd seen far more of King's Landing than even her lenient father would forgive, what with Syrio – her beloved dancing teacher – encouraging her to chase cats and pigeons all across the citadel. She could swear to the Old Gods that she had had crept through most of the twists and turns around the Red Keep by now. She'd darted around the streets frequented by the lords and ladies of King's Landing when they weren't trying to curry favour with King Robert, but the street she'd led herself to now didn't look like any place she'd ever seen before.

The streets were dirtier, the houses and inns smaller and shabbier. Windows were clouded with dirt, and the fine lace trimmings or sturdy plain cloth that people wore closer to the Red Keep were nowhere to be found here. Worn leather, thin cloth, bare feet.

Arya clambered to her feet. It even smelled different down here. It still had that dry heat that she had found and hated everywhere in King's Landing, but underneath it was a bitterness. There was no perfume down here to mask the unpleasantness of city odours, but Arya straightened her spine all the same. She wasn't a pampered soft girl like Sansa who would get squeamish at a few bad smells.

She let the crowds push her along what she soon figured to be a market street. Jerkins and tunics hung draped from stalls and the sellers swatted at patrons who drew grubby fingers across them. Shiny baubles were offered to coarse haired ladies. A little further on and she saw fruit laid in great piles in baskets and boxes. They were starting to turn brown in the afternoon heat. Colourful mounds of spices were attacked with the wetted fingertips –  _'Just a taste, or else how am I supposed to be knowin' it's what you say it is?'_  – and they pricked the air with strange smells that made her want to sneeze.

That was nothing however, compared to the meat market. She stumbled round the corner rubbing her nose only to choke and gag on the thick, cloying smell of warm and raw, spoiling meat. She coughed and the sharp sting of vomit rose in her throat. She shoved her dirty sweat-drenched collar over her nose, but it may well a been a handful of dung for all the good it did.

As quick on her feet as if she were chasing pigeons, she dashed through the meat market, knocking against legs, bumping full baskets and weaving between the throngs of people that lined the streets. Through broken sandals and dirty feet she glimpsed the opening of another street and hurried down it, hand clamped over her nose until her breath burned in her lungs.

"Seven hells!" she gasped, drawing in a desperate breath. " _Ugh!_ "

A clang sounded behind her, followed by a deep chuckle. Arya whipped her head around to see a large – a very large – dark haired boy smirking down at an anvil, hammer in hand.

"What are you laughing at?" She demanded, face set into the fiercest scowl she could manage.

He didn't even turn to face her only lifted his hammer again and readjusted something she couldn't see on the anvil. "Not from around here, are you?"

The clangs started again as the boy struck with his hammer, an odd rhythm starting up.

"I am too!" She yelled over the hammering.

He stopped and turned round clumsily (' _Lumbering idiot',_  she thought, snidely), and looked at her with a crinkle in his brow. "From here?"

"That's what I said, stupid."

" _Stupid_?"

"Yes, stupid. You can't tell where I'm from just by looking at me."

Again, he laughed. His hammer swung loosely at his side and his massive shoulders shook with the force of his mirth. "Down here I can."

Arya stepped closer into the shop and her eyes lit up. Swords and shields lined the walls. There were baskets full of arrows and spearheads, and rows of shiny, sparkling gauntlets. "Are you an armourer?" she asked, excitedly.

The boy looked at her bewildered, his eyes flicking between all the wares on display. "Yeah. How'd you guess?"

She scowled again.

"What are you doing down here anyway? Shouldn't you be running around with the other boys a little closer to the Keep?"

For a second Arya had it in her to be offended. But then she remembered the dirt smeared all over her, and her fine hair bound behind her neck and tucked down into her shirt, and she had it in her to be secretly pleased that he thought her a boy so easily.

"Those other boys are boring," she said, and smiled a little as he turned back to his work. She followed him this time, and peered over his arm to see a great sheet of metal being beaten into what she thought was a breastplate. "Whose that for?"

"Not you," he said, and nudged her out of the way.

"You're very rude."

That made him smile again. "And you're not? Calling people stupid is a courtesy where you're from, is it?"

She nudged him back – a lot harder than he had done to her as she figured his sheer size made it a fair thing to do. "It could be, for all you know."

The boy huffed and propped his hands against the anvil. Shook his head, too. "Alright then. It's a pleasure to meet you, stupid." He bowed at her, mockingly. "I'm Gendry. Who might stupid be?"

Arya cackled, thrilled at this strange, grumpy armourer's boy. No one ever spoke to her like this at home. Bran was too nice and Rickon too small and Robb was too busy trying to be a lord to tease his little sister properly.

"I – uhm, I'm 'Arry," she stumbled over the words. "'Arry St- uhm –"

"'Arry Stum? Somehow I don't think that's a real name."

A spike of fear gripped her, brief as it was, that this boy could find out her name and take her back to her father and then she would be in more trouble than ever. But she was Arya Stark, and didn't have it in her to be scared for long.

"Well it is!"

His look was gentler this time, as he turned to look at her fully. His smile was sweeter and she noticed his eyes for the first time – bright blue set against a tan face and black hair. "Hey now. Your last name doesn't matter to me none. I don't even have one if that makes you feel any better."

That caught her attention. "You mean – you're a bastard?"

It was as the difference between night and day. One moment his expression was pleasant and welcoming, the next a dark look came into his eyes and he turned away from her sharply.

"Well sorry if that's not good enough for you," he muttered. "But I reckon if you're so ashamed of your own last name, you shouldn't be looking down on us without."

"I'm not ashamed!" she shouted, but he didn't even acknowledge he'd heard hear. She gripped the back of his thick leather apron and tried to tug him around to face her – but it was no good. He was too heavy and too stubborn for her.  _Like a bull_ , she thought.

"And-" _tug_ -"that's not-"  _tug_ -"what I meant at all! I don't care if you're a bastard."

He scoffed, but he turned a little bit all the same. "Oh really."

"Yes! My brother J-Jonah – he's a bastard too. And he's by best brother."

But to her dismay this didn't seem to improve Gendry's mood at all. "How can he be your brother and a bastard?"

"I call him my brother. But my sister doesn't. And my mother hates him. But I don't – I love him. Much better than anyone else in the world but Father. In fact, I think – I think all the best men are bastards."

He was quiet for a moment. He'd put the hammer down when she had started rambling and looked at her carefully – but not like he was scrutinising her for traces of a lie, but like he was considering her. At length, she felt the weight of his gaze soften. "Apart from your dad."

Her grin was full and happy. "Apart from father."

He sighed – not unamused – and shook his head again. "Yeah. Yeah, alright."

Arya finally felt brave enough to ask to hold one of the swords on the wall and was about to ask Gendry if she could, when a bellow from the back of the shop interrupted them.

"BOY! Where are you boy?! Hurry up and finish that breastplate! That sorry excuse for a Ser will be by to pick up today now instead of tomorrow, so stop taking you precious time over it! He isn't paying us that much coin."

Gendry rolled his eyes and only barely fought off a grimace. He looked at the little boy, who looked crestfallen for some reason, and gave a sorry shrug. "I have to get back to work. Thanks for the break, I suppose."

He gathered up his hammer again and Arya watched him put the breastplate back into position on the anvil. He'd quite enjoyed meeting this boy – this Gendry – gruff and polite and funny not treating her like a little girl even though he thought she was a boy. So she suppose that's why she said it.

"Can I come by and see you again tomorrow?"

She'd had to shout as he'd started up his hammering again, and this time he didn't stop for her.

"No," he'd said with a laugh.

She'd laughed right back at him. "Alright. I'll be back at the same time then! Bye Gendry!"

She'd already darted off by the time Gendry had turned around. He felt a soft sport of affection bloom in his chest, smothering any irritation.

"See you tomorrow, 'Arry."


End file.
